


Between the Lines

by Ebyru



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Arguing, Control Issues, Creepy, Dark, Dubious Consent, First Meetings, Innuendo, Lies, M/M, Magneto Being Creepy, Mind Games, Psychic Abilities, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:06:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebyru/pseuds/Ebyru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is waiting in line, but someone insists on talking to him. It’s okay at first, and then Charles realizes there’s something incredibly wrong with the man he’s conversing with. Or maybe there’s just something wrong with him that he never noticed before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [midorihaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midorihaven/gifts).



> This is un-beta'd, so I'm really sorry if you go blind after/during/before reading this. There might be a few OOC moments due to the AU they're in. Feel free to point out any major grammar mistakes I've made.
> 
> Prompt was from [midorihaven](http://archiveofourown.org/users/midorihaven/pseuds/midorihaven) who said: "write about being stuck in an endless line". And I don't know how I came up with this...

“Excuse _me_ , I was here first.”

Charles looks back, eyes the man – the significantly taller man – up and down before turning back to face the front. “No, I believe not. Do I seem like the type to cut in queues?”

“How would I know? This is the first time I’m seeing you. And is there really a specific type of person that cuts in line?”

Charles sighs, takes his book from under his arm, and opens it. “If there was, it wouldn’t be me.”

“Your attitude tells me otherwise.”

“Well, I apologize if I'm not feeling the most friendly after being accused of cutting in, after having spent hours standing here,” Charles says without turning around.

If he had glanced back, he would have seen the smirk on the stranger’s face. “What’s your name? Or should I just call you the Ice Queen?”

Charles sighs, turning to the next page. “I don’t much feel like telling you my name, sir. I’m certain you can guess why.”

“Erik Lehnsherr,” the stranger whispers as he leans in closer to Charles.

“I’m sorry, but _no_. You’ll have to guess again.”

“If you tell me your name, I’ll retract what I accused you of earlier. I suppose I was too tired this morning to notice that such an interesting man was standing right in front of me.”

“How charming you are, Erik.” He moves enough so that he can turn around without bumping into Erik’s chest with his sharp elbows. You can never be too careful. “Charles. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Indeed it is, Charles.” Erik stretches out his hand, nearly jabbing Charles in the stomach with his hand. “I’m sorry about invading your personal space like this. I can tell you’re not very comfortable with it.”

Charles grabs Erik’s hand, shaking it harder than he needs to – just to prove a point. He has no personal space issues; he just doesn’t know who Erik is. And they didn’t exactly have the best first impression.

Erik doesn’t seem bothered by the gesture. He even smiles when Charles yanks his hand away, and wipes it on his pants. He’s playing with Charles, enjoying the effect he’s having on a stranger in line.

“Fan of Shakespeare?” he asks with a hint too much joviality. He sounds smug for some reason.

He’s getting underneath Charles’s skin, and he can’t quite figure out the reason. “Why else would I be in a queue, waiting hours to see a play?”

“Because you wait in lines to chitchat and meet new people?”

Erik slips his hands in his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet. He’s swaying in and out of Charles’s personal space. Provoking Charles, one could say. Then he stops, inches from Charles’s mouth and breaths out…filth.

Or what translates to filth in Charles’s brain because of the sheer proximity of their bodies.

“I’d like to get inside you.”

“ _What_?” Charles croaks, pushing Erik back rough enough that he falls against a stranger.

“I said I’d like to _be_ inside, too. I’ve been here since four o’clock.”

Charles snaps his book shut, putting it under his arm. “Yes, well. I’ve been here since three, and we’re only one space apart. Imagine my dismay.”

“I can imagine,” Erik agrees, taking a step forward again.

Charles wonders whether it would be worse to turn his back on Erik again or to endure this space-invasion he insists on doing. Charles is very good at social gatherings; there’s never been a complaint about his people skills – except from his sister, Raven. But Erik is…alarming. And not in a good way. There’s something about him that is making Charles put up his defences.

Will the tense atmosphere dissipate once Charles is seated and Erik is safely elsewhere? Or will Erik follow him to whichever spot he chooses? _One decision at a time, Charles._

Erik leans in again, and Charles doesn’t wait to turn his back. If he were to assault Charles in any way, the queue of people would surely help. Wouldn’t they?

“Sick of me already, Charles? I thought we could discuss so much more,” Erik murmurs, breath sliding inside the pores of Charles’s skin like oil.

“I would like to read my book, if you don’t mind.” Charles opens it up to his previous spot, waiting for the witty retort he knows is coming. It’s probably something along the lines of Erik being _more interesting than characters of fiction_.

“I think I could entertain you better than those fictional characters, Charles,” Erik breathes out, right into the shell of Charles’s ear. Much too close for Charles to enjoy from a stranger.

But that discomfort aside, how could Charles have known what he was going to say? It’s not as though they’re friends, or even colleagues; there’s no reason he should have been able to anticipate what the response would be.

“Well, if you were, I wouldn’t be re-opening my book.” Charles concentrates on the words on the pages, but all he sees is letters, spaces; white and black lines, scribbles, gibberish; shapes and designs that make no sense to Charles any more.

 

 _And then, suddenly,_ red _._

_Nothing but red._

Charles looks over his shoulder slowly, and Erik’s eyes are trailing down his body. A shark’s grin is painted across his face, like he forgot to slip his mask back on too late.

_The red turns darker; crimson then burgundy. It explodes, and hurts Charles’s head, making his eyes tear up. Making Erik seem like a man with a blade, hovering over a body, grinning and sweating onto the pulp he’s created below._

“Have you killed anyone lately, Erik?” Charles asks, without preamble. It’s best to catch murderers off-guard, and before they remember to lie.

Erik’s grin turns dark, blacker than the furthest corner of space. And all of the air abruptly rushes out of Charles, until Erik is clamping a hand over Charles’s mouth.

“Now, now. I didn’t say _yes_. No need to look so frightened, my dear. We wouldn’t want something to happen to you. I heard panic can be a killer.”

So it wasn’t just a coincidence the first time. The blood the second time…it’s true as well. Or is it something that’s meant to happen? Charles has to do something either way.

When Erik removes his hand, Charles keeps very still, gaze never leaving Erik’s face. “What do you want?”

Erik smiles, fingertips trailing down Charles’s shoulders. “For you to talk to me, that’s all.”

Charles knows it won’t end at just ‘talking’. But what choice does he have? What are the chances that Erik is unarmed for the moment? Or that anyone will believe him if he yells that there’s a murderer waiting to go inside?

If there’s one thing he can do, it’s to try and change Erik’s mind to save all these oblivious lives. “All right, Erik. What would you like to discuss?” He’s careful to keep the trembling out of his voice, even if it requires every cell in his body to do so.

“Maybe you can guess,” Erik says coyly, hand coming up to cup Charles’s jaw.

 

_A large bed._

_The sheets tangled around Charles’s feet._

_Erik is above him, licking and sucking as sweat pools in the hollows of his throat, in the dip of his chest, and right above his groin. His hands move even faster, trapping Charles against the headboard with an impossibly quick movement. Metal clasps around Charles’s wrists._

_Restrained._

_Erik grins; tongue tracing the shape of Charles’s full lips, sucking them into his mouth, puncturing through the skin with his teeth to get a taste of the blood hiding underneath. He sucks at the metallic flavour, bruising Charles’s lips, stroking along his shaft until Charles is too hard to think, to fight. Too lost in the sensations, and complete loss of control, to do anything but yield to Erik’s every fantasy._

_Charles comes, messy and explosive, and Erik doesn’t let him go. He keeps him tied, mouths at Charles’s cock until it’s over-sensitized, and then makes him come again. In his mouth this time. Then again. Then again, and sliding his fingers inside of Charles when it takes too long for him to get aroused. And when Charles can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t see beyond the stars smattered across his eyesight from too many orgasms in a row, Erik takes him._

_Merciless. Rough. Claiming._

“I’m not interested in discussing such things in public, Erik,” Charles replies, plagued by those images countless more times. His chest starts to ache; it’s starting to feel real. Like it’s happening now. Charles feels trapped.

“Well, then. Aren’t you special? You actually did guess, didn’t you?” Erik’s fingernails bite into Charles’s forearm until Charles has to yelp in pain. “Sorry, was that too rough? I thought you’d like a bit of something unpredictable in your life.”

“I’m not a fan of violence, no, thank you.” Charles pulls his arm away, rubbing at the three red crescents on his skin.

Erik yanks Charles’s arm, forcing Charles to stumble into him. He’s tilting his face up, holding him still, leaning in. He’s breathing warm air against Charles’s mouth, dragging Charles’s bottom lip down with his thumb. Too close. Charles knew there was something off about Erik.

“How about sensuality? Seduction? What about this?” Erik presses in close, his groin jutting out hard and right into Charles’s flesh. “Do you like this? Because I promise no one else has done this to me in a while.”

“Please, just,” Charles chokes out, closing his eyes when he feels Erik’s hands wrap around his waist. “I won’t say anything. I know nothing. I’m no-one of importance.”

“But you are of importance. You’re Charles. You’re a man with character, with dignity, with a special ability I’d like to test further.” His finger is wet when it drags along Charles’s mouth. It’s better now that Charles can’t see. “Open your eyes, and tell me what I’m thinking now.”

“I can’t--”

Erik’s voice is low, but destructive like miniature bombs planted right below Charles’s skin. “Tell me before I lose interest in you!”

“All right,” he replies, looking anywhere but at Erik’s face. The shark’s grin is back; it’s going to haunt Charles’s dreams if he ever gets out of this.

“Tell me,” Erik murmurs, placing a chaste kiss on Charles’s throat. “I’ll believe whatever you say.”

 

_Charles is on all fours, gagged with his own scarf, legs spread wide, and face scraping painfully against the asphalt. He cries out with each brutal thrust, whimpering when Erik rolls his hips in further._

_The people all around - passersby and fellow playgoers - watch them with disgust. Some rush off down the street, others stay and follow every movement with their eyes. Others get excited by the display, touching themselves and each other. Wanting so very badly to touch Charles and Erik as well._

_Erik repeats Charles’s name over and over, until everyone knows who is being fucked in the middle of the day, into oblivion, into next week. Charles’s cries are muffled by his scarf, and Erik groans, scraping Charles’s knees when he drags his ass back harder to push in deeper._

_And there._ Right _there._

_Charles is blacking out. People are screaming, others are crying. Most are clapping. Erik doesn’t bother getting dressed; he carries Charles off to his home, so they can continue._

“You’re a monster,” Charles spits, slapping Erik’s hand away when he starts unbuttoning Charles’s vest. “I will never allow that to happen.”

“That’s a shame, really. Because I think you’d enjoy a little of my kind of abuse,” Erik says back, groping at the bulge in Charles’s pants. “And why are you getting aroused if it’s not what you want? Hm? You’re lying, aren’t you?”

Charles shakes his head furiously, backing away. “You’ll never lay a hand on me, Erik.”

Someone taps Charles on the shoulder, and he realizes he’s finally at the front of the line.

“Ticket to Shakespeare’s Hamlet, I’m guessing?” the attendant says politely.

Charles clears his throat, fixing his clothing. “Yes, please. Just one.”

“Lucky you’re alone then; there’s only one left,” the attendant explains, smiling at Charles and handing him his ticket.

The attendant puts up a sign over the Shakespeare poster that says ‘sold out’.

Charles already starts to feel better. When he looks back to the line of disappointed people, Erik is gone. Maybe he’ll leave Charles alone now. If he’s waiting for Charles outside after the play, Charles can call the authorities and not leave the building until he’s escorted back to his home.

There’s hope yet.

 

\---

 

Once he’s in his seat between two absolute strangers, and certain that Erik is nowhere in the theater, he begins to relax. The play is beautiful; it would make Shakespeare proud if he were still alive. The actors are remarkably talented and captivating. Horatio is very interesting, perhaps more than he should be, considering he isn’t the star of the play.

But all of that peace that Charles had finally accumulated is quickly stolen away, like sheets of paper in a gust of wind, when he discovers who is playing Hamlet: _Erik_.

 

Maybe there’s no escaping him after all. Maybe there never was any chance of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think? :)


End file.
